Alea Iacta Est
by SilverStar24
Summary: ONESHOT. Snape and Dumbledore have a conversation about things to come, Snape reflects on his motivations. Strong hints of unrequited SSLily. Set during HBP.


"_Hagrid, why is Dumbledore angry with Snape? ...What's Snape done?"_

"_I dunno, Harry, I shouldn'ta heard it at al! I—well, I was comin' out of the forest the other evenin' an' I overheard 'em talking—well, arguin'. Didn't like ter draw attention to meself, so I skulked an' tried not ter listen, but it was a—well, a heated discussion an' it wasn' easy ter block it out…._

"_Well—I just heard Snape sayin' Dumbledore took too much for granted an' maybe he—Snape—didn' wan' ter do it anymore—_

"_I dunno, Harry, it sounded like Snape was feelin' a bit overworked, tha's all—anyway, Dumbledore told him flat out he'd agreed to do it an' that was all there was too it. Pretty firm with him. An' then he said summat abou' Snape makin' investigations in his House, in Slytherin…_

"_Look, I know what yeh're like about Snape, Harry, an' I don' wan' yeh ter go readin' more inter this than there is." _

_- HBP, Ch. 19_

000

He was fairly certain that the walk from Hogsmeade to the Hogwarts Castle, was not in fact, and endless journey. In actuality, it was a comparatively short journey.

It seemed like forever.

The castle, twinkling in the distance, seemed to get farther away as his steps got heavier and his resolve waned. A strong wind whipped at the edges of his cloak. It still had the warmth of the quickly fading summer, but left him feeling cold. A sure harbinger of things to come. It didn't matter. He liked the cold.

Severus Snape was young, to be sure—but he was no fool. He had risen quickly in the Dark Lord's ranks—powerful, naturally talented, with just enough of an odd history to endear the man to him. He sometimes wondered if this was a side of the Dark Lord no one else knew about—the impurity, the pain, the frustration, and the disappointment.

It didn't matter very much. He didn't share it with anyone. He never shared anything, and he didn't intend to.

That was his strength.

He had never imagined it would come to this. He imagined that any dissent, even the internal kind, would get him killed immediately. Right there on the spot. At least he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

But it never happened. No one could see what was going on in his head. Not even the Dark Lord himself. His anxiousness, his panicked thoughts—his _treasonous_ thoughts—were just that. Thoughts. He felt suddenly free—and more trapped than he ever had in his life.

And then there was the prophecy. One night in the Hogs Head of all places. It was so…random. There was really no reason for him to be there. He really just wanted a _drink_…but that was the night everything changed for him. It was that look. That look in Dumbledore's eyes. Their eyes met for a moment in the chaos that resulted in Snape being forcibly ousted from the bar, the Seer convulsing and gasping revelations in the background. He could hear him. That look of infinite sadness swirling inside that tired, crystalline blue.

"_How did it come to this, Severus?"_

"_I'm not a child, anymore. You wouldn't understand…gods—don't look at me like that…"_

And then darkness. He went scampering back to his Lord like a good little servant, expecting to be rewarded, to be praised, to be exalted. And he was, for the most part.

The bad news came soon after.

He clutched his cloak tighter, speeding up. One more moment was just too damn long…He shut his eyes, but he could still see her face. Her smile. Those eyes. Potter's hand on her shoulder, his arms around her…bitch. She deserved it. He hoped they found her. He hoped they killed her—mudblood scum.

Worthless. Mudblood. Bitch.

He hadn't properly slept in a long time.

He would lie awake at night, repeating those words over, and over, and over, again in his head, in a dull monotonous rhythm. Over and over—until they ceased to have meaning at all, until they were a low buzzing in the back of his skull. He was holding out for the day that they became _true_. It never came. He couldn't sleep. Her face was haunting him. He saw her with Potter and felt a hot swoop of anger inside him. She was always with him. She wasn't worth it? How could she be if she was with _him_?

_Worthless_. _Mudblood!_ _Bitch_!

Why was she doing this to him? Why did she have to be nice to him? To bloody _everyone_? Why couldn't she just be horrible like everyone else? It made what he did easier…it made them all so much easier to hate…they were nothing to him, nothing…

Green. Green eyes. Perfect. Beautiful. Brilliant. Kind. He didn't deserve her. Potter certainly didn't deserve her. It wasn't right. The bastard got everything he wanted and left him with nothing. He deserved to die—but not her. All because she loved _him_.

Disgusting.

The night caught up rather quickly with the absence of the sun and it seemed to drop a few degrees. He shivered. It was cold, everywhere. She was so warm...they were going to kill her, and it was his fault.

The castle doors creaked open. Could the old man be expecting him? Why would he? He knew where the office was. It seemed like a life time ago—Hogwarts. But there it was—unchanged and immobile. It was almost…_comforting_ to see its stasis. He took comfort from few places.

He stared at the entrance way for a moment before attempting to open it. He had been a prefect. How quaint. They had been the Heads of the School. The password would have changed, certainly.

The old man _had_ to give him a second chance. That was what defined him—the _werewolf_ had come here. He was always forgiving, believing the best, making allowances…

The spiral stone stairwell sprang to life, quite of its own accord, beckoning him. His heart pounded. _Show no fear. Show no fear. It doesn't matter who he is._

Curiously enough, the door to the office didn't open immediately. It was shut tightly before Snape's face. He lifted his hand and paused for a moment. It was a chance. An opportunity to leave without making a fuss.

It was a choice. He could have run. He didn't.

He rapped sharply on the door. A moment later, it swung open, the solemn face of Albus Dumbledore materializing in the dark.

"Severus," he said quietly, in a neutral tone. He didn't say anything else. How are you? What brings you to my doorstep? How's the genocide going? Silence. It needed to be filled. Snape remained in the doorway.

"Sir…" said Snape. He hung his head slightly. For the first time he noticed that his hands had been shaking rather violently for quite sometime. "I believe…I have made a mistake." _Hundreds of them._

000

"Acid Pops."

The gargoyle twisted open.

He was a trusted confidant of Dumbledore now, after so many years. _Trusted_. Actually, he was trusted by both wizards, two extremely powerful men living on completely opposites sides of the moral spectrum. Sometimes even _he_ wondered whose side he was on. The line was blurred so frequently, sometimes he found himself standing above a scene…his insides churning with the utmost revulsion—something he had done. Something horrible. Again.

The Dark Lord's white lips would curl into a smile. Snape would bow low, and thank him. He was stronger, smarter, cleverer than most other servants—a silent understanding seemed to pass between them.

"_You have done well…"_

"_Because you understand who I really am…this is where I belong…"_

He wanted to run, but the situation seemed inescapable. He ran straight into Dumbledore's office and confessed everything, for the promise of salvation. He would never have to go back and do things he didn't want to, no matter how skilled he was at such tasks.

He was valuable. A double agent. It would be over soon, Dumbledore had promised. One way or another.

And it was over. But it cost _her_. Her life. And what had it left them? A child. Potter's child, a precocious spoiled brat who was as unruly and arrogant as his worthless father. He was the spitting image of him. It made Snape want to wrap his hands around his worthless little neck…it would be so easy. But he couldn't. Another corpse, another life taken, standing over another grave—not crying, just staring—wondering if the boy had ever seen the graves of his own parents—feeling something swirling inside of him like an oncoming storm.

_Here lie James and Lily Potter. Rest in Peace. We remember your sacrifice. _

She was gone. So was her smile, and her laugh, but…those eyes. Those eyes lived on in her son's head. He wondered if he saw the same world she did, through those eyes. He doubted it. She saw the good in everyone, even him. How did she do that?

He brushed the roughly hewn stone walls with the tips of his fingers as he climbed the spiraled stairs.

How could he have failed her so totally? He had one real goal, and he failed to achieve it. She would have wanted him to like her son. Everyone liked that Potter boy. He had his father's talent on the Quidditch field, loyal friends, and the adoration of the entire wizarding world. Snape should like him, but he didn't. He hated him. He just wasn't that kind of person. Not even _she_ could change that.

He reached the office door. He had never wanted to go back to the Death Eaters. He was relieved after the fall, it meant that he could be here forever, perhaps he could teach future students about Dark Arts. They had almost destroyed him, but—he could control that impulse now, perhaps he could teach others not to make the same mistakes. He wasn't a child anymore.

"_Five years, five different teachers," he hissed at the Headmaster, who remained impassive. "What will it take for you to release me from those bloody dungeons?"_

_Dumbledore stared rather pointedly at his folded hands. "You are gifted in Potions, Severus. I think that is the best place for you now."_

Another unsatisfactory answer. He had seethed silently, but said nothing further to contest the Headmaster's decision. Every year, the same conversation, a new teacher. He had almost lost his temper with the appointment of Gilderoy Lockhart to teach a generation of young wizards about the darkest and most fearsome of all forces in magic. But he hadn't. Once. Once every year, he brought it up, and once, every year, he was dismissed. But he never stopped, and Dumbledore knew he never would.

Back to the dungeons it was. It was at least better than most other options. He was…comfortable here. Besides, he owed Dumbledore a great deal. The man saved him from a life sentence in Azkaban. And he was never meant to go back—he was free.

"_Severus," said the Headmaster, gazing at him with a quiet intensity. He could still feel the dull sting of the Mark burning his arm, again, after so many years of dormancy. _

Freedom. Who was he kidding? He would never be free. He would always be bound between these two men, these two lives, and his inability to justify his own choices.

"_You know what I must ask you to do…"_

He had nodded. He felt numb. He was foolish to think he could escape his past sins. They came back. They always came back. Everything comes full circle. Fear swelled inside of him, but at the same time—a sense of tranquility. Somehow, he always knew he would go back. It was just a matter of time. He had seen the same sentiment written all over Dumbledore's face for years, even when the old man was reassuring him of the exact opposite eventuality.

He had swept immediately out of the room. He was always in a hurry. It wasn't easy to live on both sides. To exist simultaneously in two distinct places, unable to decide which aspect of yourself you hate the most. Is it the undyingly loyal one, true and moral until the end, willing to give it all for the good of all? Or the cowardly turncoat, unable to justify his own actions, seeking solace in other people's ideals? Hell—he wasn't even sure which was which.

There was never enough time. It was difficult living two lifetimes in the span of only one. He pushed open the door and strode across the office now with equal urgency.

"_Enjoying life as a fugitive, Headmaster?" asked Snape dryly, visiting Dumbledore one evening as he fled from the heavy hand of Dolores Umbridge. _

_Dumbledore beamed. "Quite!" he replied cheerily. _

The old man had asked him for sherbert lemons. They were in the middle of a war, and the man who was possibly the most powerful wizard on Earth had requested audience with his most valuable double agent for a tin of Muggle candies. Snape knew he would never, never fully understand the way the old man's mad mind worked. He could accept that.

"_They're working on killing Emmaline Vance," Snape said quietly. It wasn't out of the ordinary. He was meant to report on things that happened on the other side. Somehow, it felt like a confession. "I gave them the information they needed to do it," he added quietly._

_Dumbledore nodded, looking unfazed. "That is helpful to know." He twisted the tin of candies and pulled off the lid. Tiny yellow orbs glittered like jewels beneath the weak light of the muggle street lamp._

_Snape was uncomfortable. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't. They were going to kill her, with the information he gave them. It didn't seem appropriate to say it aloud. Was he mad? Didn't he care that it was…wrong. Another horrid thing he had done. Didn't Dumbledore realize what this did to him? Is that why he wouldn't let him have the DA post?_

"_You did what you had to do, Severus," he said understandingly. "I do not fault you for it, do not fault yourself."_

"_How can I not?" he said, misery creeping into his cool, emotionless voice. "Sometimes, I'm not even sure what side I'm on anymore. Is there any way to…"_

"_Do what you believe is right, Severus. Neither I, nor anyone else can change that within you. I will accept your decision."_

Emmaline Vance was murdered near Number 10 Downing Street, London, in early July of this current school year.

He did not attend her funeral.

"Severus," said Dumbledore. He was standing beside his desk, gently stroking the Phoenix perched on his arm. For someone so old, he was rarely sitting down.

"Headmaster," greeted Snape. "You requested to see me?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. He did not chuckle as he was so prone to doing. The recent events of the world seemed to weigh down upon him like a physical burden. He hung his head a little lower. The phoenix cooed softly.

"I did." He waved his arm in a broad, sweeping gesture. The phoenix soared away in a swirl of crimson and gold, returning gracefully to its perch. "Walk with me."

The walls of the office were crammed to the point of suffocation with portraits of Headmasters past, all listening. Spreading news and rumors to unwanted locations. They walked out of the castle, across the grounds, to the edge of the forest. It was silent there, and empty. Not a word passed between the two men until they reached their destination.

"How are our students faring, these days?" It was a thinly disguised question, but Snape knew exactly what he meant.

"Mr. Malfoy is still pursuing his ridiculous crusade to kill you," said Snape flatly.

"_I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!"_

"_You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but—"_

"He is becoming rather adept at Occlumency these days."

"He is clever, isn't he?" said Dumbledore contemplatively.

Snape snorted loudly. "That necklace charade was ridiculous," he scoffed. "Sometimes I do wonder if he really _means_ to _do_ it or not."

"He is young," said Dumbledore. He faced the school, staring up at its majesty with an air of sad resolution. Snape faced Dumbldore at the opposite angle, his eyes flitting towards the forest. "He is just beginning to learn of the price of his actions. We may save him yet."

Save him. Save him from going down a dark path, but a familiar one. It was so easy to get lost in those woods…

"_Severus, please…you must help him…the Unbreakable Vow…" Narcissa's eyes are wide and pleading. Bellatrix's are narrowed in suspicion. _

"_And, should it prove necessary…if it seems Draco will fail…" whispered Narcissa (Snape's hand twitched within hers but he did not draw away), will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?" _

"_I will."_

"He worries that his family will perish at the hands of his master. He wants to escape—and yet at the same time, he wants the glory and honor he has this singular chance to grasp." said Dumbledore in the same even, yet eternally optimistic voice. He did not look at Snape. "He has power, resources, and ambition. But he is lost. He knows not what he truly desires. He reminds me of another lost youth."

Snape looked away into the forest. Still lost, no longer quite so young. He could see the path, but it was as treacherous and uncertain as his motivation for traveling on it.

"He wouldn't succeed, anyway, its cruel to put him through such trials."

"Life is full of trials," he replied, the bitterness that filled him oozing into his voice. "Where else can we learn the strength to survive?"

"I know that you, of all people, understand that very well." Snape looked at him, but did not respond. What did he want him to say? There was nothing more _to_ say. Dumbledore was kind and open, always trying to pull others close to him, as if that would solve all problems. Snape did not often share what he felt. So what? He was a private man. Openness breeds weakness, weakness leads to death. A man as powerful as Dumbledore did not have to worry about such things the way the rest of the world did.

"You will do what is necessary."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Will I?" he breathed.

"Severus, I don't blame you for—"

_Anything_. He didn't ever blame him for anything. That was impossible, wasn't it? He must blame him for something. He had done terrible things. Perhaps he blamed him for everything, he just lied ceaselessly about it. He knew the things he had done were inexcusable, he was just using him. Someone on his own side who would do his dirty work. How noble all the others were, not like him. He lived in the dark. Dumbledore would never have asked his precious James, or Lupin, or Harry to do something so monstrous.

Perhaps that was why he permitted him to take up the DADA post finally, after all those years. He needed him there, he wanted to remind him of where he came from, what he was, and where he was destined to end up. He came from the dark. He tried to escape it, but he couldn't. Dumbledore didn't want him to. He wanted to show him the truth—that he was destined to remain in the dark, soulless and hated, his hands covered in the blood he had spilled and would spill again.

"Don't tell me it doesn't matter," he hissed. "It's everything. What was the point of it all, if it comes to this?"

"Nothing is meaningless, Severus," he said almost pleadingly. "You have come so far…"

"And you want me to go back!" he said, his voice rising.

_Snape looked away. "Narcissa wouldn't have accepted anything less. Bellatrix was there, asking far too many questions for comfort."_

"_Very well." Dumbledore smiled sadly. Like he knew it would happen. Like he knew it would happen all along, he was just waiting patiently. "That changes the timetable slightly, but no matter." _

_He looked at him, deeply, piercingly, eyes shining with the smoldering heat within. Something inside Snape was screaming. He never screamed. He was never surprised. That look surprised him—it terrified him. Apparently, his appraisal of the situation was quite inaccurate._

"_You know what must be done, then."_

_It couldn't be. He was ready. He had been ready for a long time. His life was nothing—he hadn't a fraction of the power Dumbledore possessed. Insanity. That's what this was._

"_Sir…?" _

_Every potion brewer worth something knows that the hottest part of a fire is the center, burning blue and bright. Just like those eyes. Snape felt like the walls were closing in on him. It couldn't end this way. Was he really asking…_

"_I trust you will do what is necessary."_

_Snape didn't speak. He didn't trust himself to. He turned and walked away. He could feel his hands shaking. _

No. He wished he could just walk away now. But there was no escape. No turning back.

"Headmaster, this—how can you ask me to do this?" he demanded, turning away. He clenched his fists.

"It must be done, Severus."

"It doesn't have to be this way—it's—don't you think you're asking—"

"From those who have much to give," he said quietly. "Much is demanded. You agreed to it before."

"You did not give me much choice!" His voice was rising. He rarely lost his temper, especially before Dumbledore. He was one of the few people he actually respected.

Dumbledore's face darkened. "There is no choice in this matter, Severus. We have only one option."

"You know that isn't true," he hissed. He could do it. He was willing.

…It would almost be a relief after all this. He had never imagined things would be this bad. Since the Dark Lord had realized his role as a double agent, he had risen in the ranks, been called to do so much more…

"_She's dead, Severus, they both are…" _

_A wine glass slid from his hands and shattered all over the floor. He dimly registered the noise._

"_That's not possible—no one…"_

"_You did everything you could…"_

He was tired. _Much is demanded._ He was so tired of all this…he—he just wanted quiet.

"I will not ask you again!" said Dumbledore angrily.

"You take too much for granted old man!" responded Snape, with equal, rising intensity. "Maybe I don't want to do it anymore!"

Who was he kidding? He never wanted to do it. He had never actually _agreed_ to it. There was a wordless understanding between the two men. Sometimes he was so _grateful_ for that understanding. He didn't have to justify himself again and again. Other times he felt as though he would drown in that silence, unable to express the guilt that was consuming him…

"You have to!" snapped Dumbledore heatedly. He never lost his temper. Never.

"No!" He felt like an impetuous child. "This is foolish! Why should you—"

"I never imagined you would be such a _coward_, Severus—"

_Sirius Black leaned casually against the side of the hall, idly tossing his wand up in the air. He smiled secretively._

"_The answer is beneath the Whomping Willow—unless of course, you're too scared to go…"_

"_Snape, you moron!" screamed Potter, Snape shrugged off his grip, furious, and continued down the passage. "Come back here!"_

Snape's head snapped around. "I AM NOT A COWARD!"

_Potter grins, flanked by his worthless friends, and jerks him up in the air with a spell of his own making…_

"_You're nothing more than a bullying toerag, Potter," she screams. "I hate you!" The sunlight dances in her fiery red hair. _

"_I don't need help from Mudbloods like her!" _

He was willing to die, wasn't that enough? He risked his life everyday, wasn't that enough? What did he want from him?

All things unspoken. Without Dumbledore, who would tell him if he was slipping? Who would notice? Who would _care_? One death and one damnation.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" bellowed Dumbledore, with such force that Snape fell silent. His voice rang across the surrounding hills, echoing sharply off the trees for a few moments before he spoke again. He spoke again, with the quiet control that so defined him. "I'm sorry, Severus. It has to be done. We have an agreement, you and I. We are both bound to it. I am sorry—but there's nothing more to say."

There was so much more to say. But neither of them were willing to say it. And he was sorry. He really meant it. But it didn't matter. None of it means a bloody thing. How could he ask him to do this? _How?_

"You will continue to make inquests into the student…activities in your house." Snape was still fuming. Something rustled in the woods behind him. Snape's dark eyes swept across the edge of the forest, but there was no one there. "I daresay Draco will try again."

"What can you expect?" said Snape. His voice was controlled, but shaking. "He has no _choice_." Dumbledore glared at him.

"Help him if you can. Voldemort will surely kill him if he finds the slightest inclination to."

"It's monstrous, isn't it?" he retorted icily. "That one should be willing to kill so indiscriminately. Men such as him should not be permitted to live at all."

"Don't make this my fault, Severus. It is simply the way of things."

"It is my fault!" he cried. "It is my fault and I am willing to pay for it! Please…" He was almost begging now. So undignified…what had he been reduced to? "Please let me pay for it…"

"_Please!" He didn't know her. She was a Muggle woman, filthy and cowering. Lucius Malfoy stood next to him, a sadistic, triumphant smile twisted onto his pale features. "Please stop!" _

_She backed away, crawling along the floor like an animal, her limbs still weak and shaking from the Cruciatus Curse. Grubby, disheveled, her face was stained with tears; her eyes were wide and pleading for mercy. Malfoy laughed. Snape allowed himself to grin as well. He raised his wand again…_

He had one more thing left to give. His life. He would rather part with that than his _soul_. The old man wanted it this way. Perhaps he imagined the soul of someone so far gone into the Dark Arts was not worth saving, anyway. Not like his precious Potter…

"I will not change my answer."

Snape was unable to face him. He spun away, staring into the depths of the forest, his hands clenched into fists.

He was using him. To think he would toss away a lifetime of struggling for _this_…the one thing he was asked to do, was the thing he had given up everything to avoid, and he was being asked to do it by the very man he had come to for that deliverance…Nothing mattered! _Nothing_! At that moment he hated him more than anything—he wanted to do something, break something—he couldn't stand this feeling—it was inside him all the time—it defined his actions, his very existence—he had come so far. So far, and it was all for nothing. How could the old man use him, and toss him aside like this?

"You hate me," stated Dumbledore quietly. Snape didn't trust himself to respond. He couldn't meet eyes with his teacher. He hated him, yes, but he hated himself more. He was repulsed by his own existence. How could he _live_ like this? What kind of man did these things and kept going like nothing was wrong?

"Hate me," he continued. "If that is what you need to complete your task, then do it. Hate me. I understand completely. I am asking you to do something that…it isn't right, I know. And it isn't easy. But Severus, it is necessary. Please…please understand. I'm so sorry, I…please understand…" He hung his head. "Please…"

He did not like to hear him beg. It made him feel uncomfortable. If Dumbledore was begging him for death, the world simply did not make sense anymore. They both stood, facing the forest, eyes downcast. They were both ashamed. Snape had hoped it wouldn't come to this. Dumbledore did not deserve to beg him for death. It wasn't right…

"I am an old man, Severus. I have lived a long time, and I have seen and done a great deal. My time is limited. There is a battle raging around us that not all of us will survive. No one lives forever. Our time here has to mean something, as does our end." He folded his hands. "Do you understand me? This situation, as unhappy as it is, is another opportunity. We all do what must be done."

"You have come such a long way, Severus, but please remember you are still young. You have your life ahead of you. Everyone does. One old man dies, so that generations may live in peace. It seems like a fair trade, does it not?"

One old man. Always humble, until the very end. It was not a fair trade. Snape wondered if a dozen of the generations he spoke of would ever be equal to the greatness this one man possessed. He doubted it.

"No…" he muttered bitterly. He would kill him. He would be revered above all others in the Dark Lord's service. The entire infrastructure would be laid bare before him. And then it would be vulnerable to come crumbling down. But at such cost…his death would be a lost opportunity, while the death of the most powerful living wizard would be a gained opportunity.

"I have lived a long time. There are—"

"Worse things than death," he finished quietly. What an inappropriate mantra. How many times had he heard that? Too many. He would rather die. They both would. Ironic wasn't it? They would bother rather die whole, and Dumbledore was begging him not to. He didn't even realize it.

Fine. That was it. He was being selfish, wasn't he? What was one man's soul in return for generations living in peace?

Dumbledore smiled, satisfied. He didn't understand.

Perhaps he imagined that Snape would live on, the rest of the world would realize his sacrifice and accept him with open arms. Nothing was like that for him. He didn't understand. He never would. Snape's life was not a series of forgiving embraces. It was cold and empty and merciless, just like him. He could not be forgiven for this crime—if for no other reason than he wouldn't forgive himself.

Dumbledore didn't understand. But he didn't have to. He could kill him. Dumbledore didn't want his life. He wanted him to give something more, and he didn't realize that Snape would never be able to get it back.

He could not afford to be selfish. He had never been cowardly before, now was not a prudent time to start. It would take a great deal of courage, but…he was willing. He was capable. He owed him everything, and it was time to give it back. He probably wouldn't have a soul left to lose if it hadn't been for this man's willingness to forgive.

Snape met his eyes, nodding slowly, giving in, giving up. Everything. Nothing meant a damn thing. Dumbledore smiled, looking almost relieved. There was a silent understanding between the two men. It had always been that way.

"_I will."_

"_Thank you."_

000

"_He always hinted that he had an ironclad reason for trusting Snape," muttered Professor McGonagall, now dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a tartan handkerchief. "I mean…with Snape's history…of course people are bound to wonder…but Dumbledore told me explicitly that Snape's repentance was absolutely genuine…Wouldn't hear a word against him!"_

"_I'd love to know that Snape told him to convince him," said Tonks. _

"_I know," said Harry, and they all turned to look at him. "Snape passed Voldemort the information that made Voldemort hunt down my mum and dad. Then Snape told Dumbledore he hadn't realized what he was doing, he was really sorry he'd done it, sorry they were dead."_

_They all stared at him._

"_And Dumbledore believed that?" said Lupin incredulously. "Dumbledore believed Snape was sorry James was dead? Snape hated James…"_

"_And he didn't think my mother was worth a damn either," said Harry, "because she was Muggle-born…'Mudblood' he called her…"_

_-HBP Ch. 29_

000

**Alea iacta est – **_The die has been cast._

**AN:** Mmm, angsty! Um…I was just kinda in the mood for a pro-Snape one shot. I'm sure you could find canon evidence of the exact opposite if you wanted to but…there ya go. If I get reviews, I'll answer them in my livejournal thingy. I'm sure there are a dozens of these floating around the fandom universe right now, but I was skimming through HBP and I saw that paragraph and felt compelled to write a drabble about it. Midterms are over! What? I have extra time…Hope you enjoyed it…

Personally, I have mixed feelings on Snape. He may deserve to be beaten about the head…or maybe not. The jury is out until book 7…

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